an hour, and the effort increased the pain in her aching head.

The usual time at which Mr. Wilkinson came home arrived, and his wife,
who had returned to her chamber, sat with her babe on her bosom,
listening for the well-known welcome sound of her husband's footsteps
in the passage below. Time glided by, yet she waited and listened in
vain; and to the pleasant thoughts of the influence her love was to
throw around him on that very evening, to keep him at home, began to
succeed a fear, which made her heart faint, that he would not come home
at all; or, at least, not until a late hour.

The sun went down, and stealthily the sober twilight began to fall,
bringing with it shadows and forebodings for the heart of the anxious
wife.

How vainly she waited and watched! The twilight was lost in darkness,
and yet her eagerly listening ear failed to note the well-known sound
of her husband's footfall on the pavement, as she stood, listening at
the open window.

"Oh! what can keep him so long away!"

How often did these words come sighing from her lips, yet there was no
answer. Alas! how to the very winds were flung the pleasant hopes she
had cherished--cherished with a sense of fear and trembling--during the
afternoon.

Night closed in, and the time wore on steadily, minute by minute, and
hour by hour, until the poor wife was almost wild with suspense and
anxiety. The dainties she had so thoughtfully and lovingly prepared for
her husband remained untasted, and had now become cold and
unpalatable--were, in fact, forgotten. Food she had not, herself,
tasted. Once or twice a servant had come to know if she would have tea
served; but she merely answered--"Not until Mr. Wilkinson returns."

Nine--ten--eleven o'clock; still Mrs. Wilkinson was alone. Sometimes
she moved restlessly about her chamber; or wandered, like a perturbed
spirit, from room to room; and, sometimes in mere exhaustion, would
drop into a chair or sink across the bed, and sit or lie as motionless
as if in a profound sleep.

Ah! could her husband have looked in upon her, but for a few moments;
could he have seen the anguish of her pale face; the fixed and dreamy
expression of her tearful eyes; the grieving arch of the lips he
loved--could he have seen and comprehended all she suffered and all she
feared, it must have won him back from his selfish folly. And how many
wives have suffered all this, and more! How many still suffer! Errant
husband, pause, look up